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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27874797">chasing a good time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish'>Flowerparrish</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AIM (Marvel), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton is Good with Kids, First Kiss, First Time, Human Trafficking Mention, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, Memes, POV Clint Barton, Secret Relationship, Texting, Vigilante Clint Barton, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, non-Avenger Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:28:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,966</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27874797</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He notices the figure in the passenger seat as soon as the car’s in sight. His feet hurt, though, and he’s so tired he doesn’t have the energy to give a fuck. He collapses into the back seat and says, “If you’re gonna kill me, please just do it.”</i>
</p>
<p>  </p>
<p>  <i>“I need to get away from here.”</i></p>
<p>  </p>
<p>  <i>“Why didn’t you just take the car, then?”</i></p>
<p>  <br/> <br/>  <i>Clint’s question is met with silence.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>OR</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint's not an Avenger, but he still does his best to make a difference when he can.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Charity Hawktion 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>chasing a good time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentle_impulsion/gifts">gentle_impulsion</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here's my fic for the 2020 Charity Hawktion for blues-tea-leaves/gentle_impulsion! I was asked for non-Avenger, Robin Hood-esque Clint who keeps enduing up joining in The Avengers' fights and running away when they try to recruit him. This is that, and also... very different than anticipated. I really hope you like it anyway!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>The first time aliens attack New York, Clint is—unfortunately—in the city.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, unfortunately for <em>him. </em>He supposes it’s pretty fortunate for the few dozen people he saves before he runs out of arrows.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t know who the super-powered people running through the streets are—well, not all of them, although that one guy’s dressed like Captain America and everyone knows about Iron Man—but they seem to be able to take care of themselves, so he leaves them to it. It’s not his job to look after the big picture, anyway; he steps in to look after the people who get forgotten or left behind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he shoots aliens so that random civilians have a little bit more time to run, helps barricade parents and children into store rooms other tucked-away safe spaces, and doesn’t think too much about what’s going on beyond making sure he keeps as many people safe as he can.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like, he definitely saw Captain America run after an alien at one point, so that guy has probably got it handled, right? History books called him the greatest strategist ever, or something like that, right? (Clint’s memory of history and any other classes he took in his sporadic attendance of high school is not great, but he <em>did </em>always like staring at pictures of Captain America. He was a queer teenage boy—he’s pretty sure that’s a fairly common experience amongst that demographic.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint finally manages to barricade himself into a storeroom in an office building with some kids from the daycare on the second level, because he doesn’t want to leave them alone and unprotected, and he waits until sounds quiet outside before he goes to make sure it’s all clear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is. He spends hours trying to return kids to their parents, or, failing that, the proper authorities. It leaves him with a sick feeling in his gut to turn them over to a system that doesn’t <em>usually </em>have the manpower to look after them and certainly won’t right <em>now, </em>but there’s little else he can do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everyone’s trying to get out of the city, so Clint gives that up as an impossibility for now. Instead, he goes to an apartment he keeps in Brooklyn and checks in on his neighbors. Once he’s ascertained that they’re okay, he collapses in his shitty bed and goes to sleep.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>They’re all over the news for the next few weeks. <em>The Avengers. </em>A new team of superheroes who saved the world. It’s a big image boost for people like The Hulk<em>, </em>who was largely feared before (and everyone kind of thought might be dead at this point). But it’s thoroughly unsurprising, to Clint in particular and many other people as well, that Tony Stark would somehow get mixed up in all of this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Personally, Clint thinks it’ll be good for him. One person shouldn’t have to shoulder the weight of trying to save the world as often as that guy does. Plus, now he’s not the only one making decisions—or so Clint hopes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s an actual Norse god, although people haven’t really seen much of him. Rumor has it that the big bad was also some kind of deity, Norse or otherwise, but Clint doesn’t really care. Whoever he was, he’s gone, and now it’s just devastation in his wake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint could get honest work out on the streets cleaning shit up. He knows Stark is footing a lot of the bill, which is pretty nice for a guy who has more money than anyone should be allowed to have, ever, and it’s keeping people who no longer have other work in jobs for the time being.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, well.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint doesn’t like looking around the ruined city and remembering the blood, the fear, the screams. He deals with those things, yes, but there’s nothing now that he can <em>fix. </em>It makes him feel itchy and restless, and before long he’s on a flight to anywhere but New York, looking for any problem he can solve.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Over the next few months, Clint methodically takes out a human trafficking ring. It’s horrible work for a variety of reasons, but someone’s gotta do it and he’s not really impressed with the efforts of the powers that be up to this point.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint has no airs about himself. He doesn’t think he’s a particularly good person; he’s too comfortable with doing whatever needs to be done, after all, and not really squeamish about morals. He fails to see how shooting aliens to keep random people on the streets of New York safe is different from killing someone who views people as property they can use to make a buck. Maybe that’s a problem, and maybe it’s not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The point is that Clint’s not really bothered one way or the other. He doesn’t care if he’s a good <em>person; </em>he cares that he leaves the world a little better than it was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Sometimes, Clint allows himself to have pockets of time that seem like an ordinary life. Most of these moments come in the summer, when he volunteers as an archery instructor at a camp in Maine each year.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He likes kids. They have so much trust in the people around them, so much faith in what is good and right. It’s refreshing; it soothes at the jagged edges of the things Clint’s seen and reminds him why he does all that he does.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Plus, he gets a few months to spread the joy of Paleolithic weaponry, so it’s a win/win as far as he’s concerned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Clint knows <em>why </em>he’s here, but he still doesn’t quite understand <em>how </em>he’s gotten himself into his current situation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That situation being defending some of the campers from some kind of mutated fish monster.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He keeps his kids safe, though, and before long The Avengers swoop in and handle the issue. He sticks around just long enough to hear them asking about where the arrows came from, and then he decides he doesn’t want to get on their radar over something like <em>this. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even if it means forfeiting his safe space, he’s gotta go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He leaves a note, at least, for the person running the camp. And then he’s gone before anyone can track him down one way or the other.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint doesn’t intend to be in DC when <em>that </em>city falls apart. He’s starting to think he’s cursed with some seriously bad luck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s in the middle of <em>persuading </em>some senators to reconsider their stances on an upcoming bill when everything goes to shit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has to go running to the car he’s more or less living out of for his bow, and then goes running through the streets dressed like a modern-day Robin Hood, which is just a bit more on the nose than he prefers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He also thinks it’s a little bit more than the local law enforcement might prefer, but luckily they’re pretty busy fighting what looks like <em>their own people, </em>so he’s probably fine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t try to figure out who the good or bad guys are amidst local law enforcement for the most part. He does target anyone attacking a civilian, though, because those definitely aren’t good guys in his book.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time the giant unidentified flying objects in the sky start to come crashing down, Clint’s pretty fed up with this whole thing. He sees bodies fall from one, though, and takes off running for the river.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time he makes it, one guy has dragged the other to the shore. They’re both beat to hell and looking terrible, and upon closer examination, Clint can see that the guy who’s laying limp on the ground is <em>Captain America </em>once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tenses, ready to fight if he needs to, but the scary looking guy with the long hair and metal arm just meets his gaze steadily and says, “Help. Him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The guy turns to go. Clint doesn’t relax his bow until they guy’s pretty far gone, and then he does it in one smooth motion, lowering it to his side so he can run over to Steve Rogers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint manages to wave down a passerby with a phone—his got hit by a stray bullet, which is just the cherry on top of this awful day—and they call an ambulance. Clint anxiously watches the rise and fall of the captain’s chest until the paramedics come and take him away, and then he’s left, bereft, with witness statements to give overtaxed cops. He gives a fake name that he bets it’ll take them months to notice, and then he begins the long, <em>long </em>trudge back to his car.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He notices the figure in the passenger seat as soon as the car’s in sight. His feet hurt, though, and he’s so tired he doesn’t have the energy to give a fuck. He collapses into the back seat and says, “If you’re gonna kill me, please just do it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I need to get away from here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why didn’t you just take the car, then?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint’s question is met with silence. He shrugs and almost falls asleep before an anguished, confused tone fills the air between them. “How is he?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Think he’ll be fine. They didn’t tell me much. Who are you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m nobody.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Looking pretty good for a mythical figure,” Clint quips, but he doesn’t even get a huff of acknowledgment. “Look, you can kill me, or you can leave, or you can drive somewhere else. But I’m gonna get some fucking sleep, so just decide on your own, okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he wakes up, he’s still in the backseat. The car is now parked somewhere vaguely <em>else, </em>and the stranger is nowhere in sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint pushes himself upright and notices a coffee cup in the front seat’s cupholder. He picks it up—still hot—and notices a small plastic bag on the driver’s seat. Inside is a pack of mini donuts, which are objectively the best thing Clint’s ever tasted. He shoves most of them in his mouth in one go, the rest demolished shortly thereafter, and washes them down with the bitter, burnt coffee that can only be from a gas station.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He waits for half an hour, but the guy doesn’t reappear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint sighs, heads into the bathroom of the rest stop to changes his clothes and tosses the old suit he’d pretty thoroughly ruined into the garbage, and climbs back into the front seat of the car.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pulls out on the highway and decides to just drive until he figures out where he is, and, once he knows that, where the fuck he’s gonna go now.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint learns plenty from the news, and plenty more from SHIELD’s data dump, about the Winter Soldier. The next few months are a blur of investigative journalism and sensational reporting on that topic; then people figure out he’s Bucky Barnes, and it gets even <em>more </em>complex as half the people in the world are calling for his head and the other half are calling for a full pardon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve Rogers disappears from New York for a while, and HYDRA bases begin turning up ransacked, more atrocities revealed with each one that’s taken down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint would <em>like </em>to say he doesn’t see hide nor hair of Barnes in those months that follow, but that wouldn’t be strictly true.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>See, the thing is: HYDRA has just been exposed as 1) still around, and 2) thriving. Clint can’t allow that to stand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It appears both Rogers and Barnes can’t, either, although Clint runs into the latter more often than the former.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Clint reaches a base that Rogers has already taken out, he checks it off the list and moves on. When Clint clears a base before Rogers, he assumes the man thinks Barnes did it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Only one time is Clint actively clearing a base when Rogers shows up; Clint sneaks out a window and uses a grappling arrow to get clear. He has to leave the arrow behind, which he <em>hates, </em>but needs must.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Rogers isn’t really an issue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Barnes… isn’t an issue either. But in a very, <em>very </em>different way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If Clint is planning to clear a base that Barnes was also planning to hit, the man will show up in whatever room Clint’s currently staying in, be it at a Red Roof Inn or a Marriott Hotel. He simply appears and makes himself at home, taking the second bed and going through all of Clint’s data, adding his own information to the pile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint works alone as a rule. Barnes, he knows, is much the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it is undeniably nice to have the <em>most </em>competent back-up, and he thinks Barnes might agree.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has to drag Barnes away from the wreckage of some mind-fuck chairs and cryo chambers, one time <em>just </em>barely managing to escape before Rogers turns up. Clint feels like maybe this is a different kind of good he’s doing, protecting Barnes from himself and the things he’s not ready to face, but it’s good nonetheless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes them fourteen months to clear North America of active HYDRA bases. There’s more, Clint’s certain, but they need more intel and manpower than they have to find it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t know what to do now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He lazes at a Four Seasons for no real reason other than that he’s got a lot of HYDRA’s cash to burn even though he’s already donated 90% of it to charity. Barnes is in his room when Clint gets back from the pool, wearing nothing but swim trunks that are wet and clinging to his legs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t miss the way Barnes’ eyes linger for a few moments on his chest and arms. With anyone else, Clint would assume they were staring at the scars first, muscles second, but there’s no misreading the heat in Barnes’ gaze.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do I call you?” he asks, because in all this time, he’s just managed to say “you” or avoid any proper names.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“James,” the man offers. He stands from the chair he’s sitting in and crosses the room, crowding Clint against the door. He doesn’t touch Clint, but their bodies are scant inches apart. “May I?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes,” Clint says, because there’s really no other answer, not after all of this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he wakes up the next morning, pleasantly sore and surprisingly well-rested, Barnes—James—is lounging in bed next to him. He offers Clint a coffee wordlessly, by now long used to the fact that while Clint doesn’t <em>need </em>caffeine to function, he sure as fuck prefers it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After Clint finishes the first cup, James hands him a second. Before Clint can take a sip, he says, “I’m going to him. St—Rogers. Captain America.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re turning yourself in?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James is frowning when Clint glances over. He does this sometimes; he’ll frown, and his brow will pull together in the middle of his forehead, and Clint knows from experience that it means he’s working out how to put something into words after too long of not ever needing (or being allowed) to use them. “Steve,” he says finally. “And I need more intel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t know if they’re gonna just let you go off HYDRA-hunting once you’re there,” Clint has to warn.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint nods. He takes a sip of his coffee, allows it to melt some of the ice in his chest. “Okay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Will I see you again?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you want to?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in the answer, but there’s no expectation, either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint tugs him into a kiss and bites his lip gently as he pulls away. “Take care of yourself, James.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Take care of yourself, Clint,” he echoes. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face for a moment, there and then gone. “Goodbye.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Goodbye,” Clint says, and he <em>hopes, </em>more than he ever expected to, that it’s just goodbye for now.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint spends a few more weeks blowing some of HYDRA’s cash and relaxing before he gets too restless and has to go out and find a problem he can fix.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He ends up back in New York, and he can’t pinpoint why he makes that choice. But he makes a home base in his apartment building and chases off the mob that’s controlling it, putting some money into fixing up the building and cutting everyone’s rent back down to reasonable levels.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t hurt for cash, with the money and the now the building full of tenants, so he gets a part time gig as an archery instructor in the afternoons and does a little bit of everything in the meantime. He’s one part vigilante, one part private investigator, one part whatever gets the job done. He retrieves incriminating photos that a woman’s ex-husband is leveraging to stop her from reporting him for not paying child support; he tracks down missing teenagers whose families are worried about them (or missing teenagers whose families pretend to be worried, and in these cases Clint gets them new info and enough cash to get by on their own). He sometimes goes out looking for trouble, ending fights that other people have started—muggings, bar fights, whatever he comes across.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s making a difference on such a small scale compared to what he’s used to. It’s staying in one place, which he hasn’t really done since he was a kid, but three months pass, then four, then five, and he’s still <em>here. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why is he still here?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then robots attack formerly Stark, now Avengers, Tower, and Clint is almost relieved to have something to <em>do. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d let them attack the tower, probably, no matter how bored he is. But the damage isn’t limited to the superheroes or the building; the entire surrounding area of Manhattan is overrun. So Clint fights his way against the current of smarter people running screaming <em>away </em>from the things trying to kill them, so that he can kill some of those things first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s just his luck, then, that he makes his way up to a nearby roof and runs into <em>James. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He freezes. James glances over at him, eyes peeled away from the scope of the rifle he has set up by the roof’s edge for just a split-second, but he must’ve seen Clint coming or Clint knows the rifle would be aimed <em>at </em>him by now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You gonna give me a hand?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why, that metal one not doing the trick anymore?” Clint quips back, but he relaxes and moves to the other side of the roof. Much as he wants to be pressed shoulder to shoulder with James right now—much as the swoop in his gut at the sight of the other man shows that he <em>missed </em>him, which is just unacceptable on so many levels—he knows James has the area in his sights already covered, so Clint will help the most people by focusing his attention somewhere else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn’t even take an hour before all of the robots suddenly collapse into heaps. “Tony must’ve found a kill switch,” James says, loud enough that Clint can hear him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint eyes the robots for a few more seconds, wanting to be sure, before relaxing his draw and moving over to James’ side. “Tony, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James smiles, a charming expression that Clint’s never seen before, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Those remain wary. “Yeah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint hums in agreement. “The WSC let you out of the tower?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That only gets a shrug in response, and then a grudging, “Steve’s working on ‘em. Figured the place being under attack was as good a reason as any to get out on the streets again, though.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s risky. Clint hopes it doesn’t backfire on him. But he doesn’t say that; it’s not his place. He just nods and holds out a hand to shake. “It’s good to see you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James studies his hand for a moment before taking it and using the grip to gently tug Clint closer to him. There’s barely enough force behind the pull for it to be more than a suggestion—not even that, a <em>question. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint goes. He doesn’t know when he lost the desire to say <em>no </em>to this man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James drops Clint’s hand when he’s so close that he can feel the heat of James’ chest inches from his own. He cups Clint’s jaw instead, looking him straight in the eyes when he says, “I missed you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint’s breath hitches. He hasn’t had anyone to miss him for well over a decade; he doesn’t know what to do with it now. “I can’t stay,” he cautions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s fine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nods and then closes the distance between them, kissing James for all he’s worth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the grand scheme of things, it’s just a kiss (well, a series of kisses really, but the point stands). Clint counts down 300 seconds in his head, and then he steps back, James’ hand falling down to his side once more. “I should go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James nods. “I’ll be seeing you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint can’t agree, because he doesn’t make promises he doesn’t intend to keep. He <em>wants </em>to see James again, but if he promises, then he’ll have to make it happen, and he’s not ready to commit to that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bye.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He makes his way back out onto the street, bow tucked into its case, and picks his way through mangled robot pieces as he goes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He catches a woman with red hair wearing a strange bodysuit watching him from around a corner, but when he waves, she just vanishes back into the chaos.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Weird, but whatever.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint does pack up and leave when a cursory Google search reveals that he’d been seen by <em>The Black Widow, </em>the least known and most badass Avenger. (At least in Clint’s opinion. The others are all enhanced in some way, or else they’re Tony Stark who has so much technology that he might as well be. So far as anyone can tell, she’s just scarily competent, and Clint hopes he never meets her for real.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He goes to Utah, of all places, and breaks Barney out of jail as a late birthday present. He even buys him a drink and a shitty car before sending him on his way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That charming family reunion takes up less than a week, though, and Clint’s left to either travel again or go… home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He loathes and loves in equal measure that he has a place to call <em>home </em>now. It may be a shitty apartment in a building in Brooklyn that’s seen better days, but it’s <em>his. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He goes home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t mean to adopt a stray dog on the way, but, well. Sometimes these things just happen to him. He promises himself that he’ll find him a good shelter or—even better—a nice home as soon as they’re back in New York.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first night Clint sneaks the dog into a shitty hotel room with him, he jumps up in bed and curls against Clint. With a sigh, Clint wraps an arm around the dog, holding him close, and acknowledges that he won’t be finding Lucky a new home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, he has a dog. His neighbor’s kids are charmed and ask to come over and play with him, and his life starts to feel oddly <em>settled </em>right around the time he starts babysitting Simone’s little ones so she can have a few hours to herself every weekend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She insists on paying him, and he in turn insists on tucking the spare cash back into her pockets when she’s not looking, because he doesn’t need the money, he’s just happy to help any way he can.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a simpler kind of helping than he’s used to, but no less rewarding when he can see the perpetual exhaustion and strain in Simone’s expression ease over time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When aliens attack the city again, it’s a Saturday and Clint has the kids. Simone rushes over, eyes wide and panicked, and Clint realizes he has something to <em>protect. </em>These people are his, and he doesn’t know what to do with that any more than he knew what to do with James <em>missing </em>him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have to go,” he tells her, shoving the youngest child into her arms and gently detaching the next oldest from his legs, guiding her over to her mom. “Close the windows, lock the doors. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looks like she wants to argue, but mercifully, she doesn’t. She just ushers the kids back into their apartment across from Clint’s. Moments later, he hears the click of the lock, and he gives himself a moment to let out a breath in relief before he scrambles for his bow and quiver that are locked up and out of reach of curious children.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t run into James this time; he’s too busy fighting near his own building to go anywhere near Manhattan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But James turns up in the middle of the night after it’s all over. Clint’s in bed, shirtless and half-asleep but still too hypervigilant for true unconsciousness, and he’s upright and has knife poised to throw as before James even appears in the doorway of his room. This is in part because Lucky perks up at the sound of a person entering the apartment, but the dog doesn’t even bark, just settles down and watches Clint expectantly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the sight of James, Clint holds the knife for a moment longer before lowering it. Even that extra moment is more to soothe the pounding of his heart than out of any fear of James.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why’re you here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James pauses in the doorway. “Should I go?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint shakes his head quickly. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just—what’s going on?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James crosses to the bed and sits down by Clint’s now-crossed legs. “They’re starting to question who the mysterious person with a bow is. Steve found arrows at a HYDRA base that was half-raided last year, and you keep showing up in battles here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint curses quietly. “Don’t suppose you can distract?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James raises an eyebrow in an <em>are you serious? </em>look that’s familiar from before, but so much more expressive now. Clint aches at the knowledge that the Avengers, that <em>Steve, </em>have been good for him. He wants that for James, but he also…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wants to be the one that helps James.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pushes that thought away to analyze later. The current problem James has brought him takes precedence. “What are they saying?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James laughs a little. “Half of them want to recruit you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint hums. “The other half?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Think vigilantes should stay out of the way before they get killed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint huffs, offended. “I’m just protecting myself and other people from getting killed! Do they expect me to just lay down and die?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t think they know what to expect from you. Half of them find that interesting; the other half are scared.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ugh. That makes way too much sense. “Well, I don’t want to be a fucking Avenger, so all of them can shove it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James smiles a little. “I didn’t want to be an Avenger, but it’s not half bad.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not hero material,” Clint dismisses immediately, waving a hand as if to physically brush away the thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And I am?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint shrugs. “Dunno. You seem to be doing okay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gee, thanks.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re welcome.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They smile at each other for a moment before Clint breaks the eye contact, clearing his throat. “Thanks for telling me. I guess I should…” He should leave New York. But he has a <em>life </em>here. “What should I do?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James digs in his pocket and pulls out a slim phone. “You should keep in contact with me, either way,” he answers. “It’s untraceable. I made sure of it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The idea of having a phone that links him to the Avengers makes Clint’s skin crawl. He mostly uses burners anyway, replacing them every few months at minimum.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But the idea of having a connection to <em>James </em>is… less unpleasant. “Okay,” he agrees after a too-long pause. “Yeah. I can do that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Because, in the end, he trusts James. Fuck if he knows what to do about that, but here they are anyway, so he’ll have to figure it out. It’s okay; he’s always been great at making things up as he goes along.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can you stay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James shakes his head. “Not for long. Don’t want anyone to get curious and come looking for me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint sighs. “Yeah, okay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James eyes him, curious and cool. “What, d’you miss me, Barton?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes,” Clint admits.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh.” James blinks, looking shocked for a moment, and then his smile widens into something so genuine, so large and breathtaking, that Clint momentarily forgets how to <em>breathe. </em>“I can maybe stay a bit longer.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“C’mere then?” Clint requests, not wasting any time. He’s just in briefs and nothing else, but James has seen him in less.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James shuffles into Clint’s space, reaching out to cup his jaw and draw him into a kiss.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>They text, now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Weirdly, James texts mostly memes. Clint texts pictures of his dog. He doesn’t send pictures of the kids, because you don’t send pictures of other people’s kids without permission and Clint doesn’t know how to explain James to anyone. But he sends pictures of the crayon drawings they do at his place on the weekends, which is just as good.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>James (4:07 pm): Kids?</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Clint (4:08 pm): I babysit on occasion.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>James sends the meme of the confused mathematics lady and Clint groans, putting his head in his hands and refusing to reply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James tells him when he’s going off on mission. James tells him when the mission’s over and he’s headed back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James never tells Clint if he gets hurt; that information, Clint has to learn from the news.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Clint (3:17 am): YOU GOT SHOT???</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>James (3:43 am): I’m fine. Barely a mark left.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Clint (4:57 am): That’s not the point! Why didn’t you tell me you got shot???</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>James (4:59 am): I didn’t know I should</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Clint groans, head in his hands. The thing is… he has no claim on James, not really. Whatever they are to each other is nebulous, undefined and unofficial.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But James got <em>shot </em>and didn’t tell him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Clint (5:04 am): Please tell me when you get hurt.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Clint (5:05 am): I want to know.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>James (5:16 am): Okay. I’ll tell you from now on.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>James, being annoyingly literal, tells Clint if he gets so much as a papercut.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint thinks he might be <em>in love </em>with the asshole, and he doesn’t know what to do about that.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Natasha Romanov shows up at Clint’s workplace on a Monday afternoon in May.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck,” he says immediately, like a <em>dumbass, </em>instead of pretending he doesn’t know who she is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her smile, though amused, is predatory. “Why do you keep showing up at our fights?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint quirks an eyebrow. “Didn’t know there was a law against defending myself from aliens.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And clearing HYDRA bases?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shrugs. “Prove it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She studies him. “What are your intentions with Bucky?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That, of all questions, catches Clint off guard. “What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She doesn’t repeat the question. Her single, perfect raised eyebrow does the speaking for her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint sighs. “I don’t have any.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He texts you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I see him smiling at his phone, and he won’t tell Steve who he’s texting. It’s driving Steve up a wall, because Bucky never keeps anything from him. But he hasn’t told the team he knows you, either, and they’re all looking.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, they know now,” Clint points out, gesturing in her direction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. <em>I</em> know. I haven’t told them yet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why?” Clint has to ask. “You don’t owe me anything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. But I understand.” It would usually be a laughable statement, but something about the cool, detached way she watches him, the certain way she says it, makes Clint think that maybe she <em>does.</em> “So, back to my first question—why do you keep showing up at our fights?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint doesn’t know what lie to tell, so when he opens his mouth, the truth spills out. “I can’t leave people to die when I can do something to stop it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She smiles. The curve to her lips is slight, but the warmth in her eyes is startling after its lack. “Alright, Clint Barton. It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you around.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint shakes for twenty minutes after she leaves, and then he packs up and heads back home to curl up with his dog and not move for a few hours.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once he’s calm again, he texts Bucky.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Clint (6:52 pm): Black Widow is terrifying. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>James (7:08 pm): are you okay??</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Clint (7:12 pm): fine</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>James (7:49 pm): Nat says she won’t tell anyone about you.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Clint (7:51 pm): cool. </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p><hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Clint falls into a routine for a while. He dodges the Avengers—quits his job teaching archery, gets a part time job at a local bookstore instead—except for surprising run-ins with Natasha and stolen hours with Bucky. Nothing attacks New York that he needs to worry about, so he falls into babysitting the kids, working twenty hours a week selling books, upkeep of the apartment building, and hanging out with the two Avengers who know he exists.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He should have known it couldn’t last.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bucky texts him that he’s going on a mission and he’ll be back in a few days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few days pass. It’s vague wording, though, so Clint doesn’t worry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A week passes, and he texts Natasha one simple phrase: <em>update? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Natasha (11:34 pm): Nothing yet</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Clint’s blood freezes in his veins. <em>Nothing yet </em>is very different than <em>nothing to report. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he packs up his stuff, asks Simone to watch Lucky, and calls Nat on his way out into the dark of the late night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Location?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She hums. “You aren’t cleared.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t give a fuck what he’s been doing. I won’t dig. Tell me where to find him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Budapest.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint curses. He hates that fucking city. “If you find him first, let me know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She hums again, distracted. “Be safe, please. I’m not adopting your dog if anything happens to you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes you are.” He hangs up before she can disagree again; they both know it would be a lie, anyway.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes Clint three days to find Bucky and another one to get him to a safe house Clint has near Prague. It’s less a safe house of <em>his </em>and more the safe house of someone who hasn’t betrayed him in a good five years, so they should still be solid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hasn’t slept in 56 hours and he needs to, but that can wait until James is patched up and awake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whoever had him—Clint didn’t know, didn’t care, killed who he had to on his way in and out and otherwise texted coordinates to Natasha when he was free and clear—pumped some kind of sedative into his system, so Clint has to wait for it to clear out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few more hours pass and he’s about to call Nat and give her the address of the safe house, acquaintance who owns it be damned, when James shifts on the bed and makes a low, pained noise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint quickly retrieves some water and a straw, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress next to James. “Easy,” he says quietly. “You’re safe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cl’nt?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. Can you sit up?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James shakes his head, so Clint sets the water aside and props him back up into a sitting position. “Here,” he says, holding out the water so that the straw is next to James’ lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes James a couple of tries to get the straw in his mouth, but he drinks the water in short order once he does. When he clears his throat and speaks, his voice sounds a lot less awful. “Where are we?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Czech Republic.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do the others know where we are?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nat knows we’re safe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sighs. “Steve’s gonna be so fucking scared.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint’s stomach drops a little unpleasantly. “I can tell Nat to call him here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James eyes him. “You’d go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re safe here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint should go. Should give James back to his friends who are way more equipped to keep him safe, even if it’s <em>Clint </em>and his less than savory contacts who found James first. But he doesn’t want to leave. Not yet. “Okay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He curls around James in the bed and they both fall asleep, the door locked and the high tech alarm system on, including perimeter alerts that will warn them if anyone gets close.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When the perimeter alerts go off, Clint is up like a shot. “Stay there,” he orders James firmly. “I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He yanks the door open to see a person driving up in a worn-down pickup truck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A person with red hair and, in the seat next to her, a tall, blond man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Clint curses. He can’t leave, because he’d promised he’d be right back. He’s in boxers and a t-shirt and nothing else, cold in the chilly air of an early October morning, and he ducks back inside to at least pull on <em>pants </em>before he’s forced to talk to Captain America.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Natasha walks right into the home like she owns it, bypassing the security on the front door with ease. She’d tripped the perimeter alarm to give him a warning, then.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know,” she says, pulling him into a quick hug before he can say anything at all. “But he was moping something awful, and I couldn’t take it anymore.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint sighs. “He’s through there,” he tells Captain America, pointing toward the back bedroom.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint didn’t expect to properly meet Steve Rogers when the man’s face was tear-stained, eyes swollen and puffy, as he profusely declared a debt of gratitude to Clint.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The only saving grace is that James looks as uncomfortable as he feels.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t do it for you,” Clint says, and then winces, because he sounds like an asshole. “I mean, sorry, I just… I wasn’t gonna leave him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“AIM will be after you now,” Nat says from where she’s, of all things, <em>baking cookies. </em>“I know your opinions on being a hero,” she adds with barely concealed scorn in her tone, “but you should let us keep you safe.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.” He can keep himself safe. He's kept himself alive this long, after all. He doesn't need them trying to clean up his messes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve looks confused. James looks resigned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Natasha looks frustrated. “Why?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cryptic.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Says you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She gives him that one. There’s silence as she puts the cookies in the oven, and then she turns and gestures at the other men. “Go away.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Steve goes immediately. James—Bucky?—hesitates, but Clint’s curious enough to wave him off, too. He’s pretty sure Natasha won’t actually murder him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he’s gone, she comments, “You said you don’t have any intentions toward Bucky.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re allowed to have good things.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Clint tells her with a sad smile. “I’m really not.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Isn’t he, then?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint frowns in abject confusion. “Of course.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, he wants you. Not enough to ask, because he cares about your boundaries. But enough that he’s miserable when you’re apart. So you need to either cut him loose or commit, Clint. This half-life isn’t good enough for either of you, and I’m sick of watching it.” She inputs a time on the oven and says, “Take the cookies out when they’re done,” before disappearing deeper into the house.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint stares at the timer counting down, and he thinks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When James comes back, he’s still deep in thought. He looks at James, takes in the way he looks exhausted and beat half to hell, and he thinks, <em>I would never have known. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you want me to move into the tower with you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James narrows his eyes. “What did Nat say to you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Doesn’t matter. Do you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes,” James admits, because lying is never an option between them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint feels a tightness in his chest at that; he’s not sure if, when he opens his mouth, he’ll be able to make any sound. “…okay,” he forces out. “I’ll try.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why?” James asks, looking like he’s afraid to get his hopes up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint takes a deep breath. He hates this. He hates vulnerability. But James was the first person to slip past his walls, not breaking them by force because he never tried that, simply proving he could be trusted until even Clint couldn’t deny it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He opens his mouth, and he says, “Because I love you, and I could have lost you, and I don’t want to waste any more time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>James kisses him, then, and the rest of the world falls away. The oven timer goes off, and Clint ignores it, because he’d rather let the cookies burn to a crisp than pull away from James right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m still not an Avenger, though,” he says when he finally pulls back. “Okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay,” James agrees immediately. There’s a certain degree of mischief to his smile, though, that Clint’s wary of.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He was right to be wary.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It takes him three fights to admit he’s an Avenger, to accept the gear Stark has made him and the comm Nat hands him and join them on the Quinjet to wherever the next crisis is happening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gives in because, above all, he wants to be where James is. More than that, he wants to help people and watch James’ back, and that’s worth anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even being a fucking superhero.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The End</p>
<p>  </p>
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